


What's in a Name?

by Fenchurch87



Series: Tales of Kirkwall (and Beyond) [22]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, F/M, Fluff and Angst (but Mostly Fluff), Post-Wedding, Romance, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-04 21:13:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17905757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fenchurch87/pseuds/Fenchurch87
Summary: Following their wedding, Marian Hawke and Anders have something to discuss. Originally written in response to a writing prompt on /r/dragonage.





	What's in a Name?

_It doesn't get much better than this_ , he thinks. Sitting on the beach, watching the waves crash over the golden brown sand, while his wife weaves blue lotus flowers into his hair.

_Wife._ He hadn't been expecting that this morning. But he should have known that Hawke had something else planned when she suggested the picnic; the amused glint in her eyes had been all too obvious. Not that he's complaining, though.

“There we are.” Hawke slides the last flower into place and sits back to admire her handiwork. “You look beautiful. Like the sea fairies my father used to tell stories about.”

“Thank you,” he says with a chuckle. “I've always wanted to be a sea fairy. How did you know?”

“Just a guess.” Hawke drapes an arm around his waist, and he shifts closer so he can rest his head on her shoulder. “Anders?”

“Hmm?”

“I've been thinking.”

“Oh? Should I be worried?”

Hawke punches him lightly on the arm, but there is a nervous edge to her voice when she speaks. “No. I don't think so.”

“That's a relief,” he replies with a smile. “What is it, love?”

“Well, you've never told me your real name.”

“No, I haven't. Is that a problem?”

“Not really. It's just– Well, we're married now. And in some places it's traditional for a woman to take her husband's last name. And I thought, maybe–”

“No!” He wrenches free of her embrace. She stares at him, open mouthed. “I don't have a last name, not anymore.”

Hawke blinks at him, puzzlement etched into her face. “But you must have a last name. How could you not–”

“It's my father's name, not mine,” he says bitterly. “He was the one who called in the Templars. I tried to run away, but of course they caught me.” His hands have curled themselves into fists, his fingernails digging into his palms. “He watched and laughed while they shoved my face in the dirt and pinned my arms behind my back. He spat on the ground when they hauled me to my feet, and said, _Get that thing out of here._ And then he walked away.” He tries to keep his voice calm, but years of suppressed pain and anger force their way to the surface, until he is almost shouting. “I was no longer his son. And so I decided that he was no longer my father, and that I would never use his name again. I don't want it!”

“Neither do I.” Hawke slides her hands into his, gently unclenching his fists, while he slumps forward and rests his head on his knees. “It's okay, my love. It's okay.”

“I'm sorry,” he whispers. The rage has gone now, and guilt and shame have taken its place.

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Hawke murmurs as she strokes his back. Her words soothe him, and he slowly relaxes in her arms.

“Hawke?” he asks, a little later. A gentle hand on his shoulder answers him. “I've been thinking too. About how it might be nice to have a last name again.”

“Really? Have you chosen one?”

“I think so.” He raises an eyebrow and waits.

She looks at him, confused, and then laughs her tinkling laugh. “Don't be silly.”

“I'm not. I'm serious, Hawke.”

“It doesn't work like that.”

“Why not? Why does it always have to the woman who changes her name? Why can't I change my name to Anders Hawke, in honour of the woman I love?”

She huffs in mock-exasperation. “I suppose you can be Anders Hawke. If that's what you really want.”

“It is.” He lightly brushes her cheek, enjoying the feel of her soft skin under his fingertips as he gazes into her beautiful green eyes. A stray lock of hair falls across her face, and he tucks it back behind her ear. He takes a flower out of his own hair and places it in hers, admiring the contrast between the pale blue and the deep red. “I love you so much, Hawke,” he whispers.

“I love you too.”

They sit for a while longer, content in each others' company, and watch the sunset cast an orange glow across the beach. He feels Hawke shiver beside him, and he slips his cloak over her shoulders to cover her bare arms.

“Shall we go home?” he asks. “Before it gets any colder?”

She nods and moves a little closer, and he places a soft kiss on her lips.

“We need to feed Ser Purr-a-lot,” he remarks. “And make sure he hasn't completely destroyed the house while we've been gone. And then–” He breaks off and plants a kiss on her neck. “Maybe–” Another kiss, a little lower. “We can go back to celebrating our wedding?” His lips find that spot, just above her collar bone, and she sighs with pleasure.

“That sounds like an excellent idea to me.” She stands up, brushes sand off her wedding dress, and offers him a hand. “Come on, Serah Hawke. Let's go home.”

 


End file.
